Lives Ended
by SaneYaoiAddict
Summary: B is sick of A getting more attention. He exploits the cracks in A's perfect life to drive him towards taking his life, so he can be the center of attention.
1. Down to Zero

_**Well, this is the first thing I wrote about B, and I'd apologize for him being out of character, but…Really, there's not much to go off of, aside from the LABB book, and that's not technically 'canon,' in my opinion. **__**Okay, I just didn't wanna go through the book and get his character down completely like I did with everyone else.**__** And there's nothing to go off of for what he really looks like, and there's nothing for A, so I kinda just made it up. . Sorry that B seems like Mello, btw. XD**_

_**Also, this is short 'cause it's just the first part. The next should be up soon. (:**_

Nobody ever paid attention to B. He was always second-best, out of two. A came first, and was well-liked, unlike B.

Though there were only two students at Wammy's, two possibly successors, nobody paid much attention to B. Nothing more than necessary. A was well-liked; if he went to a normal school, with other students and cliques, A would be the popular one. Liked by everyone.

And B? He'd be the social outcast, just observing his surroundings, plotting deaths and glaring at A in a silent fury. Always glaring at A.

Because no matter what, no matter how he grew up, B would always hate A.

All the teachers thought he was perfect—golden-haired with light blue eyes, and the face of an angel. Nobody liked B as much as him, with his brown hair and eyes. With his _glasses. _He was average, and A was exceptional.

How he longed to destroy his perfect, angelic body… To make his teachers see only him, the truly exceptional one.

But he couldn't. They were under constant surveillance, and even if Wammy's had its own rules, he was still expected to follow the law. Since he didn't exist, after joining Wammy's, they could make him disappear with no questions asked. Nobody would even miss him…

And A wouldn't die a natural death anytime soon; he could tell from the numbers it was at least 50 years away, without interference.

Yet another reason the teachers preferred A; nobody liked the freaky kid obsessed by death, who claimed to predict it. Who_ could _predict it.

But B could see the cracks in A's perfection. The pressure was starting to get to him, and with the right words at the right time, he could make the counter above his head count down to zero.

And he wouldn't even feel guilty.

A would likely come to him to talk to—most teenagers would rather confide in each other, if possible, than an adult. A didn't have a grudge against B; instead, he saw him as a colleague, a childhood acquaintance. B's grudge wasn't shared, and it would be A's downfall.

Sure enough, a few days later, there was a knock at B's door after their—separate, of course, probably so the teachers could dote on A all the damn time—tutor sessions that replaced school. He opened it, holding in the smirk that longed to get out, and saw A, with messy blonde hair, his "perfect" blue eyes blotchy from crying.

B wanted to laugh. He wasn't so perfect now, when he couldn't keep it all together, now was he? But of course, he had to act like a friend… At least, until he left. It'd be the last time he'd have to see A's damn stupid face.

He gestured for him to step inside, mentally making a not to burn the carpet he walked on later. What a waste of matches…

As A took a seat on his unmade bed, B shut the door. None of the teachers needed to see or hear what would take place here, in A's final moments. He'd have to pretend he tried to stop this, anyway. It wouldn't do to have evidence proving the contrary.

"I can't take it anymore…" A said. His voice was weak; he'd definitely cried recently.

Serves him right. The spotlight was as good as his, now.

"Oh?" B said, sitting near A on the edge of the bed and wrapping an arm around his shoulder. His voice held a mildly curious tone. "You can tell me about it."

Since A wasn't looking at him, B was free to smirk. No doubt, A thought he was being a "good friend," not someone plotting to drive him to suicide.

A looked at his hands, folded in his lap, and fidgeted with his fingers as he talked.

"They're…Putting me through tests. To see if I'm really capable of succeeding L."

"What kind of tests?" B asked, though he really didn't care. It was just part of the charade. He could tell A was on the verge of failing, if he wasn't already, just from the way he worked.

Actually, it could be helpful to see just what he would have to deal with when A was gone. Since would, inevitably, become the next in line to succeed L after A's death.

"It's…They're giving me _real _cases, B. Current ones. And I… Can't do them all. They… People have _died. _Did… Did I kill them?"

He kept stammering, unable to form sentences correctly. Now, this was most unlike A. It was _perfection, _in B's opinion.

B was about to say "yes," hopefully finally putting an end to this—the sooner A killed himself, the better—but A began speaking again. Just how long was he going to keep talking, anyway?

"I can't sleep, or eat. I've seen… There are pictures. People who've died… Because I couldn't save them in time! I've lost weight because of it…"

A pulled his shirt up, allowing B to clearly see his ribs. He also looked paler, as if he hadn't gone outside in over a week; A was usually tanned. He looked like he really was sick, really dying.

That was just fine with B.

"I'm a skeleton, B…" His tone pleaded with B to help, but he was far past sympathy. All he could think was, _you will be._

But of course, he had to do his job subtly. If he was too overt, A might start to have doubts.

"Have you told anyone?" B asked. He needed to know if anyone would suspect him—if it was known A was cracking, and he talked to B shortly before killing himself…Things wouldn't look good for B at all.

A shook his head, filling B with relief. "No. But… The teachers don't like me as much anymore. They aren't trying to help. It could be part of the testing, but… I think they _know _I can't do it."

Oh, such glorious words! A knew he had to give up, that he'd only fail if he kept trying.

B had to hear it again.

"Of course you can!" The words made B sick. "But what are you going to do?"

A shook his head. "I can't. I'm… Not cut out for it. Out cases, the ones we solved—they gave us the same ones, I'm sure, that's why they kept us separate—we had no time limit."

Bullshit. That wasn't why they kept A and B separate—they _liked _A, and they wanted to give him more personalized time.

But A continued speaking, giving B no time to complain. "But… What I'm doing now, people _die _if I don't figure it out in time. I… I'm desperate, B. Their faces… I see them when I try to sleep. The ones I didn't save."

"That's called guilt." Of course, B had never experienced such a useless emotion himself. But he knew enough about it to pretend he did, to pretend he really cared when all he felt was jealousy and loathing.

"From what I heard, it follows you around for the rest of your life," B continued.

"The rest of my life, huh?" A mused, giving a bitter laugh. "The way this is going, that won't be long."

_Perfect._

B decided the right response was to play dumb. Maybe A would admit he was killing himself; getting him to think those thoughts was good. "What do you mean?"

"This stress… And the guilt… I think I should end it the only way I know how."

B hadn't ever seen anyone try to talk someone out of suicide before, but it didn't matter—if his argument was too convincing, A might actually decide not to do it. But it was too early to be overt, to make A realize the person he came to for help in his weakest moment _hated _him.

"Are you sure?"

"I… Think I will. I haven't done anything worthwhile, and nobody would miss me, anyway."

"Neither of us have, and neither of us would be missed." _But I will, and you won't. I'll do things nobody would believe. _

"Do you… Do you think I should?" A looked to B, his last hope, with his eyes glistening with tears.

"Yes," B said, smirking at A freely; he had won. "You should."

Silently, A walked to the door of B's room, and opened it, hesitating for only a moment. B saw a flash of silver as he, the so-called perfect one, pulled out a blade from his pocket.

"I don't want you to see it."

B could see it clearly, now—the numbers above his head were ticking down at a faster rate, towards zero, the sadistic timer indicating death.

And then he was gone.


	2. Rebirth

_**I'm sorry for dividing this into two short parts, but it makes sense that way. **_

A wasn't the only one who died that day—and it was a bloody mess; B regretted not being able to see it.

B was fed up of being in second place all the time. That life was now over, as well.

Now that A was dead, the teachers were starting to pay attention to him. But he wanted more, wanted attention from the man he was being trained to become.

L had visited before, but he, like everyone else, thought A was the one who would succeed. He'd never paid individual attention to B, other than a few curious glances. Not the focused attention A received.

L's visits were impossible to predict, but it was a few days after A's death, and the teachers were talking about holding a ceremony for him. L was sure to be there—like everyone else, he seemed attached to A.

B had to get ready for that, to get ready to see L again. He was, of course, excited to see the body, but it would be cleaned up; the blood would be gone, and the excitement would have been taken out of the occasion had L not been certain to come. He was desperate to prove his similarities to the man, inside and out.

And so, he grabbed the bag of materials he stole last night, when he snuck out—which was easier than it seemed—to complete his rebirth: scissors, hair dye, colored contacts, and new clothes.

Theoretically, he didn't need to sneak out and steal these items; he could ask, and have them there almost immediately, provided by the staff. But it wasn't quite as fun as doing it himself, and it took the shock away, from when he revealed his new appearance, and the thrill of escaping.

B stood naked over the bathroom sink. The hair dye would be first; he'd go headfirst into his new life. It showed bravery, after all. That was what he prided himself on—B had never been scared. Of anything.

Not even of his own actions.

Without even looking at the directions, B began to apply the dye—fuck guidelines, he could figure it out himself—and rinsed it out an estimated fifteen minutes later. He'd need to get used to doing this.

He didn't need to cut his hair; L's was longer than his, so it actually needed to grow out a little longer. The difference wasn't obvious; his hair hung in his eyes, but didn't _quite _reach his neck. B had a tendency to pay attention to details, so it bothered him that his transformation wouldn't be complete for another month or so, until his hair grew in. It shouldn't take too long, though; he'd grown it out for months, now, almost a year.

Next were the contacts—it took a while to get used to the loss of vision; he was used to his glasses. But he was fine, after a few minutes of blinking.

It was tough to put them in, though—he accidentally poked himself in the eye an approximate six times before getting it right.

He snapped the glasses, enjoying the satisfying _crack! _from the lenses as they snapped and the blood running down his hand from a sharp piece of the broken wire frame. As he licked it off, savoring the taste, he blinked at himself in the mirror with his newly-gray eyes, the same eyes he would now show to the world forever.

Last came the clothes. He pulled the white shirt and jeans on. At a loss as for what kind of underwear L wore, B decided to stick with none—at least until he arranged a certain "accident."

He ripped up all his old clothes, cutting them up into tiny strips of cloth with his new, sharp scissors, the whole time planning his new life. Upon finishing, he threw the scraps of fabric into a fire—in A's room, where the bloodstains indicated he had killed himself—and laughed maniacally as the fire reflected in his gray eyes.

It could be said both of their lives ended there. B couldn't think of a better spot to lay to rest his old life. B was now no longer the same person, the one who was never good enough to notice.

Now he was a perfect duplicate of L. Ready to succeed him when the moment arose.

He would have to get attention then. Even from L.

_**I like how I did this**__**—**__**one section focuses on how A's life ends, and the other focuses on how B's life ends. It's almost poetic. Or not**__**—**__**I suck at poetry. But I like how this turned out. (: Even if it is short. D:**_

_** Reviews would be lovely. (: **_


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